


when i'm with you

by betoning



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF
Genre: Love Confessions, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 21:57:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6875206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betoning/pseuds/betoning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a lovesick Sebastian is about to leave the dinner Team Cap filmed with Chelsea Handler.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when i'm with you

**Author's Note:**

> This is fiction, please don't read if you'll mistake it for anything else. I mean no harm.

Emily makes it look so easy to get into the back of a car. Soft and elegant, folding legs and ducking her head into the sharp overhead light that streams out to take a bite of the night air. She sends a parting smile over her arm before she shuts the door; something equally soft that has been worn at the edges the longer the night has progressed, and for a moment Sebastian loses himself in the echo of it – in the mirroring exhaustion that throbs in his chest.

The car rolls away with a quiet scratch of tires against pavement; angry, red lights glaring at him as it descends and leaves him in an aftermath of Chelsea’s excited voice that is drifting out through the door behind him. _Another pub-crawl_ , it’s suggesting. _Preferably without the coughed up blood to save us the mess, Frank._

He can’t distinguish Frank's reply, but it’s a deep rumble that is short on syllables, most likely of a sarcastic nature since it coaxes out a high-pitched reply from Chelsea, and a different burst of laughter that he’d recognize anywhere, in any pitch, through any kind of air and over every pace of his own pulse. It’s _Chris's_ laugh, unknowingly guiding Sebastian through the mindless racing of that pulse, now, like it has throughout this entire press tour. It's the cause and the cure all at once.

When the second car pulls up Sebastian gives a sigh; a stream of air that is heavy with the leftover tension that always comes with being social, with the pressure of being everything an actor is supposed to be in front of cameras that will capture his every move. He’s stayed relatively quiet throughout a dwindling meal, his voice too delicate whenever it has tried to carry one of his opinions across the table, and the feeling of being overpowered is lingering with him, now. Is a pressure over his lungs, his ribcage. A nagging feeling in the back of his head that is telling him that he’s slipping. That he’s once again managed to forget how to function when Chris is there – when Chris is laughing, breathing, smiling over bowls of salads and charming the plates with his self-deprecating sidenotes. Charming _Sebastian_ with that, and so much more. Making Sebastian fumble with his own words, faltering, crumbling into glasses of water.

Sebastian greets the driver with a worn _hello_ and slips away from unfolding plans, from the source of his distracted mind and into the backseat. He doesn’t want to be here when the trio brings a couple of cameramen and head out on the town. Doesn’t want to see Chris disappear now that he’s finally gotten a few hours in his presence again, a table away and solid in a way he hasn’t been since they left humidity and fireworks behind in Asia.

The driver is a middle-aged man with a kind expression. He says Sebastian’s name like it’s a question and finishes it off with an equally curious hum of Sebastian’s hotel that Sebastian doesn’t manage to confirm before Chris is cutting in.

“That’s the one,” he’s saying, his hand suddenly a warm pressure over Sebastian’s shoulder, over the twitch from surprise to contentment that the shoulder goes through under the touch. “Come on, Seb, slide over a bit.”

Sebastian’s dazed by the soft murmur of his nickname, still not used to the way it slips off of Chris’s lips so easily these days, like floating velvet to drag him into just about anything Chris wants from him, sliding included. The seat’s cool under his palms, and threatening with all its room under the light that is welcoming Chris in. Sebastian doesn’t know how far to go, how much space to create when he’s still got Chris’s fingers curled around his shoulder, fingertips in his thin jacket that tie them into a unit, and he ends up thrumming in the middle while Chris folds in with a flowing motion, pressing up close from shoulder to knee.

“You’re not -” Sebastian starts, fighting through fog. “I thought you were going out with them.”

Chris closes the door against night air and distant voices, cuts the light off but still manages to look radiant when he gives Sebastian a soft smile. “No. Just want a bit of quiet.”

Sebastian nods, and turns his head forward again as they roll out on the street.

 _Quiet._ He’s good at that. Has been so for hours, now, with interruptive bursts of desperate comments that haven’t reached their target – that haven’t earned him anything in response but the reminder that he works better in even smaller crowds, on even playfields with similar personalities to sync with. Possibly where he doesn’t have Chris a sideways glance away, embodying everything he’s looking for and making it painful to look anywhere else.

“Do you really think that?” Sebastian asks after a moment, with city lights rushing by and the asphalt disappearing beneath them, almost soundless compared to the thrumming of his thoughts, of the impressions he’s devoured in his silence tonight.

Chris turns slightly towards him, angling his body so that his knee digs more firmly into the side of Sebastian’s. He doesn’t look bothered by the interruption; just has a curious tilt to his eyebrows, as if the need for quiet doesn’t include Sebastian's silence, letting him exist outside of the laws. “Think what?”

“That you’re not funny,” Sebastian clarifies, tracing the conversation back and sorting out the information he’s gathered just like he’s done at every other pit stop of the press tour, when new bits of Chris have fallen into his palms. “You said, to her -”

“ _Right_. It’s just,” Chris says, “sometimes I feel like there are two sides to humour? Those who can perform it, and those who’re just there to appreciate it. And I know what’s funny, I do, I just – stumble over myself. Mess it up. I _know_ it, but I can’t _do_ it.”

He’s earnest. _Always so fucking earnest._ But like this, without excessive camera lights and the pressure to perform, his voice simmers down to something that is as soft as the smiles he’s been laying out on the table all evening. The thoughts aren’t forced into cohesive presents and he doesn’t twist under the metaphorical ticks of a clock that is counting down the time before he’s labelled with judgemental words. Sebastian has missed this through dinner; the workings of Chris’s mind that show in his expressions - has missed the show of scrunching eyebrows and pursing lips that he got so used to on set, in interviews, through late-night dinners in foreign countries when it was just them.

“I think you are. Funny. All sides of the word - the centre. I’ve been saying so in interviews, that you are. That you should do more comedy,” he tells Chris under a held gaze, a steady emphasis from one shade of blue to another. He’s not afraid to look, now, like he was with Chelsea’s prying curiosity clocking his every move. Not afraid to be himself either, because he _is_ good in smaller crowds, or perhaps just good with Chris. “Don’t you watch my interviews?”

Chris mouths around silent vowels, wide-eyed and flustered in the face of Sebastian’s teasing as he says, “I don’t want to get to know you through a screen, through someone else’s questions. Want to watch you - listen to you, to whatever you want to say to _me_ and - but do you really? Think that?”

He’s pinching the fabric of Sebastian’s jacket now, holding on tight at Sebastian’s elbow like a child tugging confirmations out of their parent. His face is so open like this, expression readable in the flashes of passing light like he’s not ashamed of asking. Comfortable when it’s Sebastian that is holding the answers, aware that Sebastian won’t judge.

“I said so, remember?” An assuring hand on Chris’s knee, fingers curling around it where they're looking to settle his own longing, his own coiling desire. “That it’s a toss-up between you and Mackie.”

Chris looks pained, then, for a moment. Closes his eyes through several breaths before he uses an exhale as a medium for his muttered, “ _Right_. When I didn’t say - but do _you_? Watch interviews?”

Sebastian doesn’t move his hand, only lets his fingers relax a bit, his thumb strolling softly along the outer seam of Chris’s pants. Chris does something similar - another kind of exhale as he relaxes his grip on Sebastian’s jacket. An unspoken realization that they’re both here, now, together again and not leaving just yet. Content.

He doesn’t know how Chris hasn’t figured it out yet - the shift that Sebastian goes through when Chris is near, the adoration that coats Sebastian's expressions when Chris is talking. Doesn’t know why Chris keeps giving him those things, those personalized pills of joy in-between red carpets and press conferences, but he’ll cling to it quietly. Will be whatever Chris needs him to be - whatever makes Chris cling back like this.

“Only Mackie’s, sometimes,” he replies honestly. “The more I have to make fun of him for, the better the press junkets get.”

Chris chuckles, low and rumbling in his chest and in the shoulder that’s brushing up against Sebastian’s. He’s appreciative of the banter - lights up with pride whenever he catches the end of one of the jokes Sebastian has dragged out with Mackie throughout the past few weeks, even though he can’t possibly understand more than half of them. Sebastian still hasn’t figured out whether to echo the pride or shrink into his own hurt at the thought that that’s all it is - a mischievous brand of friendship with inside jokes to get them through the industry. Another buddy to smile conspiratorially at that never, ever can catch on to the underlying fondness at the corners of his mouth. He’s sure that the cameras have caught a whole lot tonight, though. Prays with additional pressure to Chris’s knee that the man to his side won’t watch the episode when it airs and find out.

  
  
They bring the following silence out to the sidewalk when they reach the hotel, standing in a bubble of it in a city that won’t get quiet no matter how late it is. There are lights and people around them, and a rumble in Sebastian’s chest. A threat of thunderous disappointment once they inevitably part ways in the corridor of their floor in a few moments.

“Gotten tired of these, yet?” he finds himself asking, thinking of Chris’s desired quiet, of their busy schedule and how little downtime Chris must have gotten, going from airports to premiers to hotels, repeating the process with a whirlwind of people.

Chris looks up at the building, lit up beautifully by lamps and his own expression, his everlasting awe of new places, of their culture and their stories. He's full of stories, himself, where he’s standing, teasing Sebastian with all the things that don't show from the outside.

“I miss my own bed, and my dog,” Chris confides. His smile is almost shy when he aims it at Sebastian, though his eyes are still bright with curiosity - soaking Sebastian up as if he hasn’t been there to be observed for weeks. “I like having friends around like this, though. Knowing that you’re just down the hall.”

Sebastian’s heart is already cracked, so it pointedly doesn’t react. It knows that it’s a friend and has resigned to the fact; has taught him how to breathe properly through the declaration and suffer in his room down that hall that he never walks the length of no matter how much he wants to, when he lies sleepless at night, wrung out with longing.

“Still kinda feels like I haven’t seen you, even though I have almost every day for weeks,” Chris continues when they step inside, nodding their greetings to anyone they meet, yet ducking away from any further contact, hovering close to each other by the elevator. “Not - not really, though. Public appearances don’t count.”

Sebastian shoves his hands into his pockets, fingers twisted tight against his palms to stop himself from reaching out, from touching, from rubbing that frown off of Chris’s face. From stealing heat and making it his own, his bit of Chris to take home and savour.

“It’s how it’s going to be, soon,” he replies, covering the sadness in his voice and expression with exhaustion, letting the elevator capture them for a while, in an ascend into the fantasy that they belong together like this all the time. That his words aren’t true. “Press is almost over. We're heading in different directions, all of us.”

“We’ll stay in touch, though.” Chris’s hand is on Sebastian’s shoulder again, defying Sebastian’s self-restraint where it’s pushing warmth through layers of fabric, settling bones. “Properly this time. Weekly calls, at least.”

Sebastian swallows, nods, echoes; “At least.”

They’re almost the same height, but Chris still ducks to catch his gaze, infuriatingly perceptive where he's searching Sebastian’s expression for the cause of his silence, for the way he’s clearly holding back. There is a worried tilt to Chris's smile, an uncertainty that doesn’t let him be entirely amused as he gives Sebastian’s shoulder a squeeze, an injection of calm.

“Beer in my room?" he suggests. "Maybe a movie, to start us off right before we part.”

Sebastian doesn’t say no. Could never, ever say no. Is too in love to spare himself like that, and would do anything to see Chris react like this - smile so widely, so unguardedly in his presence and in reaction to his yes.

He didn’t drink during dinner, not like Chris. Doesn’t want to lose control of himself, of his lips and the way they work on muscle memory when his mind goes blurry - mouthing out Romanian when they shouldn’t. The evening's first taste of beer is familiarly bitter on his tongue, and the bottle is cold in his hand - chilled by Chris’s hotel fridge and covered in Chris’s fingerprints. It’s part of an exclusive club with Sebastian’s shoulder and elbow, now, earning jealousy from every other fibre of Sebastian’s being - from every inch of him that is starved for Chris’s touch.

It’s a fancy room, just like Sebastian’s. Has a couch for the two of them to settle on, a floor that accepts his jacket and both of their shoes as they get comfortable against an arm each. Both have black socks on, and Chris’s don’t look half as boring as Sebastian's where their feet meet in the middle, on a cushion that only pretends to be oblivious in its support - in the way it’s tilted so that their feet slide down against the backrest.

“So. Movie?” Chris asks, nudging a toe against the more boring shade of black. “One of Downey’s?”

Sebastian’s heart does react this time, because it doesn’t seem to get used to Chris’s unwavering attention for Sebastian-related details no matter how much time they spend together. _Prefers sugary coffee_ , Chris seems to have noted. _Has no trouble reading a book in the middle of a crowded bar, and admires Robert Downey Jr._

He nods and drinks some more. Wonders, yet again, how Chris hasn’t noticed how gone Sebastian is for him, since he notices everything else.

“How did I not know?” Chris asks in mirroring wonder, putting tremors in Sebastian’s heartbeats before he adds, “That you hate flying? We - we did, together. Fly. And I didn’t notice.”

_Because you were too busy helping, breathing, distracting me with your smiles, your stories. I loved you. Then, now, tomorrow._

“You had your own things to deal with - to prepare for, before we landed,” Sebastian says. Truths of a smaller scale, but still as important. Still parts of himself that make him fragile to give away, but that he’ll offer forever if it means that Chris will look at him like this, as if he’s stupid in a lovely way. “I didn’t want you to worry or anything.”

“I will, now,” Chris says in reply, easy as anything, no joke intended. He’s got a leg folded, resting up against the backrest, and the other angled out and off the couch, leaving Sebastian in the v in-between them, in a fort of something comforting, something secure, like the risk of flying off the couch is as bad as flying in a plane. “Worry. Because I care.”

“I’ll start calling you every time I land, then,” Sebastian jokes, cheek against the sofa, heartbeat everywhere else, in fingertips and on his tongue, ready to leap with a bout of love. “From airports in different time zones, cheering through your three AM’s that I made it.”

Chris knocks his leg against him, teasing, pushing his knee back and forth repeatedly until Sebastian cracks with a smile, with fondness, with obvious infatuation brimming every line of his face as he wraps his fingers around Chris’s ankle and fits his chin over the knee cap. Impulsive. _Idiotic_. But it feels right, here, where he’s curled over Chris's leg. Where he’s exposed to a smile that is so soft on Chris’s face that it almost breaks his heart all over again, wishing that he could find just a hint of discomfort in Chris’s expression and use that as an excuse pull back, away from the beauty and all the emotions that it evokes in his own chest.

Nothing changes, though. The seconds don’t brush away at Chris’s gentle, considering face, and Sebastian doesn’t move away from it, just keeps smiling to keep the unspoken joke going, just so he’ll have a reason to stay. A reason, other than his love, to show affection like this, and to keep touching.

“You looked a bit fed up at dinner,” Chris tells him, still soft, still considering, and ever so observant. He’s keeping still under Sebastian’s touch. Still in a way Sebastian hasn’t seen him in days. “Kept wishing we were sat next to each other just to be able to hear all the sarcastic comments you must have been biting back.”

Sebastian breathes out a chuckle, embarrassed as he slides chin and nose against fabric until he’s got his forehead resting against the bone in Chris's knee instead, hiding pink and affection from Chris’s observant eyes. His fingers are nervous, drawing letters against Chris’s leg that spell out nonsensical things - things that mirror the rush of emotions in his mind that just seems to grow worse with the physical contact, with the heat and the familiar scent that Chris radiates.

He breathes out, feels Chris shake beneath his weight and reluctantly pulls back a few inches when he says, “I guess I struggle to understand people, sometimes? The habits of talking over each other, of not thinking things through before they’re spoken. It’s so foreign to me. Makes me disappear a little in conversations.”

Chris’s mind starts working, then, in that visible way that Sebastian finds so intriguing, so attractive. Chris's eyebrows furrow in reaction to his thoughts and the lines around his eyes smooth out whenever he blinks, eyelids delicate-looking in the play of lights from the TV. Sebastian waits patiently for him, for whatever he’s willing to give away, with his fingers still loosely wrapped around covered skin, hoping that his words made sense. That Chris still gets him.

“I listen to you,” is what Chris says, because he clearly _does_ get Sebastian. “All the time, to every thoughtful comment. They make me feel like there are points to my own, whenever I’ve rambled for four full minutes and you’ve sat patiently through them all. You don’t disappear - not from me. You hate flying, and you think Superman is silly, and I’d go see a movie with you just for your sarcastic comments about DiCaprio’s coats.”

 _You do listen_ , Sebastian thinks. _You made me feel colourful all through dinner, by lingering glances and soft smiles over salads. You take me seriously, and it’s made me fall in love with you. This is your fault._

“Well alright,” he hums, with a final squeeze of Chris’s ankle just to keep his heart from derailing; from spilling secrets and lovesick rhythm over the nice couch. “If you shut up I’ll give you a five-point list on Tony Stark’s car battery.”

Chris looks surprised for a moment, for a brief few seconds where his heart seems to run on Sebastian’s rapid pulse, but then he’s grinning again. Wide and beautiful, sparked by the teasing like so many times before as he pushes himself up; sits back with his arm slung behind Sebastian’s head, subtly inviting.

Sebastian leans in, inhales more of that comforting warmth and mutters, “But - hey. Thank you.”

 

He’s lulled to sleep by Chris’s steady breathing, and brought back by distant voices. His own and Mackie’s, working in tandem on low volume to bring him back to a reality of Chris’s heartbeat under his ear, a solid chest for a pillow in a room that’s bathing in the vaguest of lighting now that the TV is off.

“You could’ve just pushed me off,” he rasps over recorded voices, into soft fabric and a comforting scent, hoping that Chris won’t take his advice now that he’s awake. He doesn’t want to move. Not now, not ever.

Chris makes a soft noise, and shifts just enough to bring attention to their position - to the way he must have laid down at some point and pulled Sebastian with him. Intentional, all of it, in a way that makes Sebastian disappointed, fully aware that nothing he could have dreamt would have been better than that - than the pressure of Chris’s hand as he was tugged down against Chris’s chest.

“Why would I do that?” Chris sounds genuinely curious, lowering a beaming phone to his stomach where Sebastian can see himself if he squints a little, adapting to the bright light.

He can’t come up with a reply, a reason, anything that won’t be full of insecurity and infatuation. Ends up pressing his nose into Chris’s shirt instead, hoping that his flushed cheek won’t scream its betrayal through the fabric when he feels an arm wrap securely around his shoulders, keeping him close.

His on-screen self is cracking up with laughter in response to something Mackie’s said, something muted that he can’t distinguish in the mess of memories he’s got of the interviews they’ve sat through. He feels like he was laughing his way through the lot of them. Wonders, not for the first time, what it would have been like if Chris had been there for all of them, too.

“Thought you said you don’t watch my interviews,” he mumbles.

“I did say that. I don’t - didn’t - before. You made me curious,” Chris says, stumbles. He’s dragging his palm over Sebastian’s shoulder blade, now, down along the spine over the giving fabric of Sebastian’s t-shirt. Warm and settling, but with a nervous energy to its constant movement. “You said that I’m sexier. Out of me and Robert, you said me.”

Sebastian nods along with the words, confirms them with motion and lets his eyes slip closed to the sound of Chris’s responding silence. He can’t handle the jokes that must be on the way - the acting that will be required to keep their friendship flourishing.

“But you -” Chris starts, confused instead of mocking, stopping his hand once it’s reached the spot between Sebastian’s shoulder blades again. “You talk about him all the time - admire his every move. Love him, even.”

“I _admire_ him, yeah,” Sebastian says with surprisingly little thought, because it’s true, and it needs to be explained. Needs to be known to Chris why Sebastian chose him - why he’ll _always_ choose him. And it’s easier like this, here, where he can hide against Chris’s chest; feel protected by the very man he’s scared to scare away. “I love the _idea_ of him, of him being impressed with me, but _you_... you’re something else. Something intimate. Someone I truly know.”

Chris's hand shifts back on its course again, trailing along a spine that is trembling with Sebastian’s hopes and fears - with the topic and the risk he’s taking, diving into it like this. He can’t interpret the movement, though. Doesn’t find a solid reaction in the friction between his shirt and Chris’s palm, and ends up tilting his head, gazing up past a neatly trimmed beard and the straight slope of a nose in time to catch the way Chris is blinking himself into focus, back to the muted interview.

“You’re funny, too,” Chris says, voice a bit scratchier than it’s been before, making the blood rush faster in Sebastian’s veins, unrelenting waves of it under skin that is brushing up against skin. “I should have said so, in that interview we did together. Especially when you’re paired with Mackie, it just - works. He makes you open up and take risks.”

“Guess I want to impress him too, for different reasons. Want to have fun with him - have his friendship.”

Chris’s fingers find the nape of his neck - a path through soft strands of hair and an easy way to tease a shiver along the spine he’s just left tingling in the aftermath of his heat. He scratches Sebastian’s scalp - makes Sebastian fight to keep a moan tucked behind his teeth.

“Mine’s not,” Chris starts, “you don’t think -“

Sebastian catches on to the insecurity, to the pain of the realization Chris is currently reaching. It’s wrong, and it makes Sebastian want to cry, thinking that Chris can even think like this - believe that Sebastian doesn’t spend every minute of every day hoping he’s impressing Chris most of them all.

“I want your _everything_ , that’s the difference,” he cuts in, in the same fashion Chelsea did at dinner. This is far more urgent than anything was then, though. “Whatever you’ll give me. I just don’t want to mess it up by talking like that. Like Frank, who can take over any conversation, or -”

Chris steals the word back, though he does so softly, with an equally soft tug of Sebastian’s hair, “You were the reason I felt at ease throughout that dinner. Not Grillo’s talk or Chelsea’s questions. All this press tour, through everything, you’ve been that bit of quiet I need. And even when you’re speaking, or laughing, or giving me a piece of sarcasm that’ll keep me smiling for hours - even then, you’re the quiet.”

Sebastian pushes himself up, ignoring every fibre of his being and how they’re all screaming at him to stop, to get back into the span of giving warmth and protecting muscle. Stares, wide-eyed and full of realization as he breathes out, “You - you needed a bit of quiet, you said. You needed -”

“You. All the time, when you’ll have me. _If_ you’ll have me”

Sebastian searches intent eyes, relaxed brows, bitten lips. Considers the lack of working that is going on to fuel Chris’s expression and sighs out all the broken breaths he’s tried to gasp for in Chris’s presence in the past. He knows that Chris means every word, every trembling emotion, and ducks down to press a final exhale to Chris’s mouth, soft and off-target, smiling like a fool at the surprised noise that he gets in response.

“ _If_ ,” he mutters incredulously, aligning their mouths better, sealing their lips in-between words. “Fucking - if. There’s no _if._ Not a single one.”

Another noise spills off of Chris’s bottom lip, his fingers curling even tighter in the hair at the back of Sebastian’s neck to pull him closer, and Sebastian already feels like he’s on fire. Feels like those waves in his veins are about to find a beach in his heart to wash up upon, and wonders if he’ll survive it. If he’ll survive the touches, the noises, the way Chris is prying his lips open with his tongue.

He’s sinking down on top of Chris’s chest again, intently this time, creeping hands beneath the hem of the shirt he’s been pushing into all night and skimming warm skin, soft ridges of taut muscle, everything he can reach in a greedy quest for more. Anything. _Everything_ , because it’s what he’s always wanted, and now Chris is giving it to him.

“Is this,” he starts, draws back a little and swallows a groan at the sight of the wild look in Chris’s eyes. “Are we figuring it out?”

Chris laughs at that, deep and breathy, tearing right down Sebastian’s spine. He gets a fond look in his eye, too, something sweet and soft in the middle of the sharp spike of want that makes Sebastian melt into him further, struggling to keep the distance.

“Told you I was ready, before. Didn’t you hear?”

Sebastian leans back in again, then, stealing a kiss, stealing two, receiving a third in the form of a cocky smile that he’s quick to cover up again, to press his reply against; “I heard. Didn’t want to hope, though. Couldn’t take the disappointment if you didn't really mean it. But I want to, though, if you are.”

“If I’m ready?” Chris asks. He slides his hands to Sebastian’s hips and presses fingers into the flesh as a reality check. “For you to go down on me? Don’t ask, not in the future. I'll always want you. But yes, of course yes. Whatever you want.”

Sebastian considers every bit of that care, the constant care that’s always been a part of their friendship - part of the reason why Sebastian’s here, straddling Chris, _loving_ Chris. It makes him flush even harder, makes him tilt his chin down in a try to hide a bashful smile in the task of peeling Chris’s belt apart, but Chris puts a stop to it with a hand. With gentle fingers at Sebastian’s jawline, with loving eyes that have a centre of fondness that is undeniable.

“You’re gorgeous, you know?” Chris murmurs. “Couldn’t stop looking at you tonight - any night.”

Sebastian swallows, and feels Chris tracing the movement with a thumb over his Adam’s apple when he says, “I like it when you look at me.”

Chis makes another noise, something between a moan and a groan that is forceful enough to guide him up into another kiss, another desperate try to convey all the words that they keep stumbling over. Sebastian’s happy to respond, to lick his way into Chris’s mouth and taste him while he goes back to work on Chris’s belt, blindly getting the buckle open and the zipper pulled down.

There’s a tremble to his fingers when he slides his palm over Chris’s bulge, desperation making them shake against the fabric of Chris’s boxers as he breaks the kiss, as he prolongs it against scratchy beard and warm skin on his way down to Chris’s collarbone. The shirt is torn off, his lips hungrily finding their way back to leave a mark over a nipple, in the centre of the chest, over Chris’s heart, all while he rubs over fabric, teases the hard length with deliberate strokes. Then he’s had enough of it, of Chris’s impatient noises and of the way they go straight to his own cock and make him feel like he’ll come before either of them have made a proper go of this.

He slides back along the couch, positions himself on his knees in the familiar v of Chris’s legs and hooks his fingers beneath the elastic of Chris’s boxers - tugs them down along with the pants in one swift move and leaves them halfway down Chris’s thighs, too damn impatient to get a mouth on Chris’s cock to do anything else.

It’s an awkward position to hold, a painful strain to his back as he kisses along the crease of Chris’s thigh, as he mouths a path over Chris’s skin to get to his goal, to lick a stripe from base to top and wrap his lips around the head, finally. He hums at the very feel of Chris, at the taste of the precome that’s already dribbling out of the slit.

Chris has buried his hands in Sebastian’s hair again, and is watching him intently through hooded eyes. He’s looking, because it’s what Sebastian wants, or perhaps because Sebastian looks filthy like this, with his cheeks hollowed around Chris’s cock, flushed and needy just from sucking him down to the base.

He finds a rhythm quickly, something similar to the song his heart’s been singing lately, only happier. Fulfilled, and loved under Chris’s attention, under the muttered praise that keeps slipping out with Chris’s ragged breaths. It makes it easier to relax his throat, makes him strive to be good for Chris - to put stars in his eyes and make the muttering die out on his lips. He sucks harder, rubs his tongue under the head of Chris’s cock until Chris is whimpering, fighting against the hold Sebastian’s got of his hips.

He keeps swallowing every inch down until his nose is buried in coarse hair, until his throat is working around the length and his actions alone are making his own dick throb painfully in the confines of his jeans. He won’t need much - still feels like he’s about to come on noises alone, on the weight of Chris on his tongue and the memory of what Chris’s lips tasted like burned to his mind.

Then Chris is cursing, tugging at his hair, looking entirely wrecked above him when he grunts, “Seb - Seb, _fuck,_ you’re so - I’m gonna come.”

Sebastian hums around him, pulls back a little and sucks harder around the tip, chasing him over the edge. He swallows what he can, and lets the rest drip down his chin as he closes his eyes against the sight of Chris. Of Chris’s open mouth, his swollen lips, the sweat that makes Chris's throat glisten in barely-there lighting.

“Fuck,” Chris breathes out again when Sebastian leans back, wipes at his chin, steadies himself with his hands on Chris’s knees. “Maybe I _wasn’t_ ready. _Fuck_.”

It makes Sebastian chuckle, overwhelmed with this warmth, this happiness that only comes with getting something valuable - something that has been thoroughly longed for. He’s got Chris’s undivided attention, suddenly. Has perhaps had it all along, but not quite like this. Not so unguarded, so intent and full of love, and now that it’s brimming with all of those things he’s getting high on it. Breathing it in until his lungs hurt, pressing an affectionate kiss to the inside of Chris’s thigh before he’s hauled up by big hands and strong muscles.

Chris kisses him, kisses the taste of himself right out of Sebastian’s mouth while he guides Sebastian back onto his lap.

“What do you want?” he asks, hot against Sebastian’s lips, against the corner of Sebastian’s mouth. His hands are already halfway up Sebastian’s shirt, pressing greedy fingers to amazed skin. “Tell me.”

“Just you,” Sebastian manages, out of breath and full of desire, full of everything and on the verge of exploding. “You, touching me. Just - I won’t last.”

Chris is quick. Smooth. Gets Sebastian’s pants open even through the post-orgasm bliss, and is soon licking over his palm with the sparks of a wicked grin lighting up his eyes. He’s far too cocky like this, with Sebastian falling apart above him the second Chris gets a hand around his cock, and Sebastian’s so into it. Into every crevice of Chris’s body, every mind-blowing twist of Chris's fist.

“Not done with you after this, though,” Chris is saying, all breath and sex where it’s pressed to Sebastian’s ear. “Wanna taste you - been waiting so long, looked at you for so long. Need to feel you.”

Sebastian goes weak everywhere he’s not tense with building pleasure, loses control of his neck and lets his forehead drop to Chris’s neck. He leaves a whimper there, long and suffering, saying yes to it all, to anything. Everything. His thighs are trembling, his body only remaining upright by the pressure of Chris’s hand on his hip and the supporting chest he’s rubbing up against in his restless tries to fuck into Chris’s hand, erratic and desperate, still whimpering into salty skin.

“You should fuck me, in the morning,” Chris is babbling. He still sounds breathless, but intent. Proving his words over and over, showing that he’s not had enough. That there’s so much more he wants from Sebastian, and so much more that he wants to give. “Let me feel you, every inch of you.”

Sebastian sucks in a breath, lets it rumble in his chest as he searches for the right words. Groans, “No. Me. Fuck _me_.”

“Me first,” Chris says with another delicious twist of his hand, another swipe of his thumb over Sebastian’s slit that makes Sebastian lose what little breath he had left. “Me first, then you. I’ll draw it out until you’re begging for it. And then we can start over.”

Sebastian comes with a moan at that; spills over Chris’s fist with broken syllables and crashes into Chris’s chest, into sticky heat and comfort. Constant comfort that is mirrored in the kisses Chris is pressing to his temple, to his cheek, to any patch of skin he can reach as he wraps an arm around Sebastian’s back.

“Sleep first, though,” he adds, which makes Sebastian snort into his neck, brimming with affection and wonder, amazed that he’s here. That he has this.

He leans back just to assure himself of the sight - of Chris’s beautiful features that are full of adoration, full of fondness in the form of that soft little smile. Then he says, because it’s important; “You do know that I love you, right? That that’s what this is?”

Chris cups his jaw in response, back to gentle touches fuelled by care as he fits another kiss to Sebastian’s lips. “Like I love you, you mean?”


End file.
